They're somewhere in Iowa or Ohio, Frank doesn't give a shit. All he knows is that they're at this rest stop in the middle of Bumfuck, population 5 and a fucking cow and that he's out of cigarettes. It's probably Gerard's fault, that cocksucking cigarette thief.
Frank doesn't really like going for walks. He gets out of breath pretty quick nowadays, a nice parting gift from his last bronchitis. Or maybe he should stop smoking. Fuck.
"Hey, Frank," Gerard's voice calls him.
Frank doesn't see him right away. He looks around the van, inside the rest stop, no Gerard.
It's because Gerard is standing in a fucking corn field. Frank hates these since he saw that movie Children Of The Corn. Good book, bad adaptation. Anyway, Gerard is standing in the fucking corn field looking like a scarecrow with his dirty hair and his stinky clothes.
"Frank, c'mere," he calls him again.
"What the fuck, G?" Frank walks up to him anyway, shuddering as he makes his way through the creepy corn field.
Gerard doesn't answer, of course. He fucking disappears out of Frank's sight. Maybe he fell. It happens a lot lately. Gerard gets drunk a fucking lot and he falls and Frank is usually the one to carry him back to the van. If he didn't love him so much, he would kick the fucker's ass till he sobered up.
"G?"
Still no answer. There's something moving on the ground though. Fucker probably fell.
When Frank finally gets to Gerard, he sees that, no, Gerard didn't fell. He's sitting cross-legged on a blanket, smoking a cigarette (that he probably stole from Frank, the asshole) and he's looking up at Frank behind his sunglasses.
"What's up?" Frank asks, looking nervously around him. Fucking corn field. There could be rats in there. Or worse.
"Sit down, Frankie. Have a smoke," Gerard says, in a casual tone as he takes off his glasses and hands his half smoked cigarette to Frank.
Frank takes it. It's his first cigarette of the day and he was seriously starting to get antsy. He takes a drag and sits down opposite Gerard. The ground is too hard, it fucking hurts his butt.
"Why are we here?" Frank asks after a minute, when the cigarette's only a couple drags away from the filter.
"It's pretty here. I want to have a farm and grow corn. Or beets."
Ok. Gerard is high.
"Why beets?"
"I don't know. What would you want us to grow?" Gerard asks and plucks the cigarette back from Frank's fingers.
"I like tomatoes. And pickles," Frank replies, playing along.
"I'd grow tomatoes for you. We could have a barn too," Gerard says. Then, he drops the cherry on the blanket. It's no big deal. The thing is already full of holes. Frank picks up the cherry and tosses it asides.
Frank doesn't notice the clouds right away. They're just clouds after all. Rain never killed anyone in Bumfuck, Nebraska. Maybe they're in Nebraska.
It starts with a few droplets of rain. Frank pulls up the hood of his sweat shirt over his head and pokes at Gerard's knee with his foot.
"We should go now," Frank says and Gerard looks up at him with a weird smile.
"I'll race you to the fence," he says before crawling up on his feet. He pulls the blanket from the ground and wraps it around his shoulders.
Frank doesn't know what fence he's talking about but he follows him anyway, jogging after Gerard and his blanket that looks like the cape of a very lame and cheesy superhero.
